


Salted Earth

by Morgana_Ren



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, KYLO REN IS NOT NICE AT ALL, Obsession, Planetary Destruction, Stalking, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Violence, creep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28522902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana_Ren/pseuds/Morgana_Ren
Summary: The bruises he left behind on your delicate flesh meant nothing, he had already branded his ownership of you deeper than you could hope to heal. If you would leave, then he would follow, death and misery trailing his footsteps. Any planet you set foot on in your desperation to claw yourself from his clutches would become fuel for his fire. He would scorch the ground around you, pry you from the burning soil with his own hands only to wrap his fingers even tighter around your neck.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Salted Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Clearing out room in the docs so I'm posting this shit here. Just a fun, short little fuckup I hate to look at and don't wanna see the name of anymore. More implied than anything, with purple prose than could make a 14 year old blush. Was going to be a much longer fic but I have no attention span for my own ideas. Enjoy. Or don't.
> 
> Morgana-Ren on tumblr

His coming is heralded by darkness. 

A ship so large it blots out the suns, casting an ominous shadow over the village you had come to call home. An eerie silence falls over the encampment; the calm before the storm builds anticipation as the black ship haunts the skies above you. Few have seen it, but all know of it. A weaponized omen of death, prophetic in its arrival.

First Order ships are a common sight in the galaxy, but none such as this one. Those not entombed safely within the metal walls often don’t live to tell the tale. A grand jewel on the crown to signify his rule. His Finalizer. 

He had found you once again. 

He doesn’t long allow you to dwell on the destruction you’ve hand delivered to the inhabitants of the planet. Manmade fire spits from the underbelly of the craft and his army spews forth from the pods that follow. Mechanized voices bark out orders and civilians, no, friends spill into the streets in a blind panic. The familiar sound of blasters firing couples alongside the shrill screams of your neighbors. Their sorrowful wails carve a hollow home in your stomach and you know their cries are the settlement’s death rattle.

There was no chance for them. If you didn’t run, there would be no chance for you either. 

The people here would die needlessly, never knowing it was you who ushered the First Order to their doorstep. The weight of your guilt drags you down as you bolt into the forests, pressure building behind your eyes as you fumble over the lifeless corpse of a kindly woman with whom you used to trade herbs. Survival carries you forward but gut wrenching culpability compels you to take one last look at the swan song composed in your honor. 

Thick, black plumes of smoke billow from the huts and pollute the heavens. The cacophony of cries and terror never seems to fade, even as your feet carry you further and further into the dense fauna that lines the forest. Bodies fall lifeless to the ground in the town center as the troopers fire at will and without reason. This was not a negotiation. This was a _massacre_. 

This was to prove a point. 

_‘I’ll follow you to the ends of the galaxy._ ’ He had told you once. _‘I’ll annihilate anything that stands in my way.’_

His mask had betrayed nothing, no flicker of emotion from behind the vocoder and yet even then you had known he meant it. He spoke the words as if they were pure and simple fact. The bruises he left behind on your delicate flesh meant nothing, he had already branded his ownership of you deeper than you could hope to heal. If you would leave, then he would follow, death and misery trailing his footsteps. Any planet you set foot on in your desperation to claw yourself from his clutches would become fuel for his fire. He would scorch the ground around you, pry you from the burning soil with his own hands only to wrap his fingers even tighter around your neck. 

And now he has found you again. 

Your feet pound the dirt, tear blotted eyes switching back and forth between the carnage behind you and the path leading deep into the forest. You can hear the shouts of the stormtroopers fanning the area and the leaves and twigs crunching underfoot as you stumble through the thickening shrubbery. The screaming has stopped, but the fires still burn. The smell of ash and scorched flesh lies heavy in the air, clogging your nostrils and mixing the painful lump in your throat with sick. 

Dodging vines and logs and driven purely on instinct, you push yourself forward until your chest clenches and your lungs convulse for breath, heart threatening to pound out from your chest. The muscles in your legs twitch and ache, your mind too lost in adrenaline to keep track of how long you’ve been running. The intense pain in your side doubles you over against a nearby tree, clutching at your ribs with trembling fingers. 

You can’t see the towers of smoke anymore, but it doesn’t sear the memory from your mind. Not from this home. Not from the one before. The stench of death is the same no matter the location. Death that with you walked hand in hand and wrapped its arms around you and squeezed until you couldn’t breathe unless it allowed you.

The same embodiment of death that was closing in on you now.

Your throat constricts as you think on all the roads that led you here, and how many bodies littered the pathway. His obsession destroys everything that dares to get close to you, and no matter where you run, no matter where you hide, he salts the ground around you and kills any chance you might have had to bloom somewhere new without his thorns tearing into your flesh. Every time you plant your seed, he poisons the soil and everything else your roots might find. 

The weight of your past crashes through the walls of the present and every sin in your history clouds your lungs until the air falls short in your chest. Every breath you draw, no matter how deep, doesn’t stop the onset of claustrophobia; it boils and churns in your gut and pounds against your temples until you collapse against a tree trunk, unable to run another foot.

Between the overwhelming nausea and the dizziness that turns your world upside down, you can hear the troopers fan the forests around you. All you can manage to do is pull your knees tighter to your chest and duck your head into your legs in hopes that they don’t see you. 

If they see you, you hope they mistake you for a civilian and shoot you. Anything is better than going back to him. 

You close your eyes, quiet your thoughts and your mind, try to will away the Earth shattering panic that so trembles your body. Like some remnant of biological instinctive fear, you can practically feel him closing in, as if you can sense him in the same way he’s sensing you. Something deep in your gut tells you that the footfall that approaches is not that of a lowly grunt, but of the Supreme Leader himself. 

You refuse to look but you can’t block out the sound of squelching leather as he kneels by you, and though you brace yourself for a blow, it never comes. Only the gentle tug of gloved fingertips digging beneath the cut of your chin, coaxing your head forward toward the source of your seemingly ever present misery. Though you resist him, he seems unbothered. Perhaps even bored. 

“Don’t be angry with me.” He whispers, baritone voice just as clear as in your nightmares. “I warned you this would happen.” 

There’s no need to voice your thoughts. You know he can hear them regardless. He’ll store each and every one away in his lockbox mind, waiting for the precise time he can wield them against you. He’ll tolerate your impudence, if only for a moment. It will only be punished on the rare occasion he can find no other reason. 

His thumb strokes your soggy cheek, even as you shake your head to will him off. It’s a mockery of affection, one he does solely to insult you. The sobs that rack your spine elicit no sympathy from him. You’re not foolish enough to believe that there’s any semblance of humanity hidden beneath his armor. He has proven time and time again that there is no antidote to his venom. 

He sits with you quietly, waiting for the moment when your little tantrum runs out of steam. When it seems as though you’ve finally run yourself ragged, he’s more forceful in bringing you up from your knees. 

“Come now. I’m tired of this.” 

And you’ll follow him through the destruction, cinder and sinew staining the skin beneath your feet, so calloused from running so long only to be dragged back to your gilded cage. You’ll trail behind him as he ascends the ramp to his ship, knowing countless blasters are trained on your pathetic form but none would dare fire. 

You’re not that lucky. 

Kylo Ren has taught you many things. He’s taught you pain. He’s taught you sorrow. But above all, he’s taught you that there are some fates that are worse than death, and yours is at his side. 

Whether you want it or not.


End file.
